


The Flawless History

by lunastairs



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Friends to Enemies, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Pre-RWBY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunastairs/pseuds/lunastairs
Summary: Since the plots line up so well, I wrote all the betrayal, war, and madness of the Dream SMP lore into the complex-fantasy myth & tragedy based storyline of RWBY."Do you know any fairytales?""Of course." Niki glanced between the gathered professors. "The prince and the mercenary, the tale of the two brothers, the children of the seasons. Oh, and the three heroes! That one is my favorite.""Would you believe me if I told you those stories have been around since I was a kid?"Niki let out a nervous laugh. "You're not that old, Professor.""Would you believe me if I told you they were true? The prince went mad with power and the mercenary was a liar who hated his immortality, the two brothers found themselves so conflicted they tore a world apart, the children of the seasons were hunted like prey by power-hungry rich men. And the three heroes..." He stared over Niki's shoulder, where Wilbur stood. "The three heroes failed miserably."One small mistake that threatened to ruin humanity forever, a desperate attempt to save a friend, divine rulers who betrayed their people, three heroes sent by a god himself, and an innocent soul who could've been the answer but fell to his darker past.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I had to change some details within both the Dream SMP and the RWBY storylines to makes this work, but overall I'm very happy with how well things are fitting together. It makes more sense if you've seen RWBY for comparison, but if you haven't it still makes sense as an individual story. Also: *the ages and relationships of the characters in the actual RWBY series do not apply to the Dream SMP character representing them*. Hope you enjoy! I planned this out & put the effort in like it was an actual novel, which in the end...it kind of is :)  
> this one is dedicated to pssgc, thanks for the punz lore ideas, love you :)

“Legends, stories scattered through time. Mankind has grown quite fond of recounting the exploits of heroes and villains, forgetting so easily that we are remnants, byproducts, of a forgotten past. Man, born from dust, was strong, wise, and resourceful. But he was born into an unforgiving world. An inevitable darkness, creatures of destruction--creatures of Grimm--set their sights on Man and all of his creations. These forces clashed, and it seemed the darkness was intent on turning man’s brief existence to the void. However, even the smallest spark of hope is enough to invite change. And in time, Man’s passion, resourcefulness, and ingenuity led them to the tools that would help even the odds. This power was appropriately named  _ dust _ . Nature’s wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness. And the shadow’s absence came strength, civilization, and most importantly--life. But even the most brilliant lights eventually flicker and die. And when they are gone, darkness will return. So you may prepare your guardians, build your monuments to a so-called “free world”, but take heed--there will be no victory in strength.”

“But perhaps victory is in the simpler things you have long forgotten. Things that require a smaller, more honest soul.”

“A smaller, more honest soul. It’s true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breath fire into the hearts of the weary. The ability to derive strength from hope is undoubtedly mankind’s greatest attribute, which is why I will focus all of my power to snuff it out. 

How does it feel? Knowing that all of your time and effort has been for nothing? That your guardians have failed you? That everything you’ve built will be torn down before your very eyes? Your faith in mankind was not misplaced. When banded together, unified by a common enemy, they are a noticeable threat. But divide them, place doubt in their minds, and any semblance of power they once had will wash away. Of course, they won’t realize it at first. Like you, they’ll cling to their fleeting hope. Their aspirations. But this is merely the first move. So you send your guardians. Your Huntsmen and Huntresses. And when they fail and you turn to your smaller soul, know that you send them to the same pitiful demise. This the beginning of the end. And I can’t wait to watch you burn.”

-RWBY volume one, chapter one “Ruby Rose” & RWBY volume three, chapter 12 “The End of the Beginning” 

(I did not write that part, credit to the RWBY writers)

  
  
  


The god extended his hand. 

_ GO _ .

The assassin tucked her blond hair into her cloak, slung her sheath across her back, and gave the god a nod. 

A clear sky lit with stars, a gentle summer breeze, colorful silk banners still strung up around the seaside city from the recent celebration of the prince’s thirteenth birthday. The assassin took a deep breath of salty air. She could not feel guilt now, could not doubt her mission.

Peeled-up terracotta shingles on the palace roof provided easy footholds for the assassin. She gripped on the shutters and swung into the window of the end of the hall. Unknown to her, one of the young princes heard her barely audible footsteps pacing towards his father’s chambers.

He slipped out of bed, carefully placing every step so he wouldn’t make a sound. But as he darted across the hall to his older brother’s chambers, he saw the assassin shut his father’s door behind her. Her blade shined red. He slammed the door behind and sunk to the ground, chest heaving.

Across the room, his brother slept peacefully, colorful ink drawings on his cheek from his birthday smudged. It almost looked as if he were smiling. Little droplets of sunlight broke through the curtains. The younger prince took a deep breath. It would be okay. He had his brother! 

He had just wandered over to his brother’s bedside, about to wake him, when the assassin threw open the door. There was not a second for hesitation. The young prince threw his hands up. Falling to her knees, the assassin desperately clutched her throat. No air could escape in or out. Invisible force tore at her lungs as she painfully gasped. The prince’s hands trembled. He had no idea how he was doing it.

The older prince opened an eye. 

Within less than a second of his waiting, a column of light shaped formed behind the assassin. It solidified into something shaped like a man...a man with grand antlers and taller than any human. The younger prince released the assassin, terrified. He could feel the pure destructive power radiating from the being. 

_ TAKE _ .

The word echoed around the room, inside the princes’ minds, but never actually heard. It was  _ felt _ . Somehow, they knew it came from the being.

As the boys stood frozen, the assassin lunged forwards and wrapped a hand around the older prince’s arm. They, along with the being, vanished into thin air. The younger prince sat down against the wall, shaking violently. He didn’t understand what he’d seen. He was eight, not a religious scholar, but even he sensed the godliness of the being.

For a moment he simply sat and waited. Dust lazily drifted through the sunbeams. The silken bed sheets were somehow smooth. A banner hung on the way, green embellished with real spun gold in the design of a falling angel. The world was hollow and asleep. Finally, the younger prince began to cry, tears pooling in the palms of his hands.

A loud crash sounded outside. He sniffled.

The palace tore apart straight through the middle. All the people who woke in time to see it described it the same way: a terrifying decimation. Spliterns of wood and marble tiles rained down upon the city. Glass glittered in the morning light. It appeared almost as though giant invisible hands grabbed hold of the cliffside palace and twisted. Nothing, and no one, was left behind. 

Rather, that’s what they believed.

Meanwhile, the older prince blinked awake. He lay in a small bed in a cave-like room, undoubtedly underground. Little lanterns hung from the low ceiling. The scent of ocean salt was still thick in the damp room. His immediate thought was,  _ I’m near home _ , quickly debunked by the fact that this cave could be across the world. 

If he hadn’t been tied to the bed, he would’ve found it nice.

The assassin he hazily recalled from earlier leaned against the small open entryway to the tiny room. She now wore a fine indigo shirt and dark pants with her long blonde hair unbound. Not a sign of the king’s blood on her left anymore. 

“What’s your name?” she asked. 

_ She doesn't know my name?  _ He had a choice in the moment. His brain reached out for any name or word that would do. “Dream,” he decided. “My name is Dream.”

“Odd name. Sam?” 

A tall young man with emerald hair ducked into the little cave. He couldn’t have been much older than the prince. “It’s nice to meet you, Dream. Do you know any combat skills?”

“Not really?” His head swam from confusion and dehydration.

“That’s fine! I’ll teach you. First, Alyssa can tour you around your new home.”

_ Home _ . “What happened to my brother?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re safe here. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

He nodded. Maybe he could learn to fight and then escape. Right. That would work. He didn’t trust anyone but himself. All he had to do was remain strong and fight his way out. That shouldn’t be too hard. 

  
  


A kingdom away, a young mercenary felt an intense tug in his gut. An overwhelming urge to travel south to the sea overtook him. For some unidentifiable reason, he  _ had  _ to go there. To find something--someone. 

He gathered his blade, his box, and some food. The window swung open of its own suspicious accord. The young mercenary perched on the windowsill, casting a glance at his sleeping friends, his weaponry, his art studio, his precious vases. 

And he jumped. 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Section One- Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lesser of two evils is never the one chosen. Dream makes a new friend, but his past is still chasing him. Chapter one of section one! -At this point, these are the absolute bare bones of the RWBY storyline and is just sourced from the general concept. Section two follows it more closely.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very excited about this one, hope you all enjoy it! if you want music to accompany-  
> Flawless by the Neighbourhood  
> How by the Neighbourhood   
> Dreamland by Glass Animals  
> Changing Paths by Room 101

Jealousy coursed through his veins. Dangerous, burning jealousy. He wanted, craved,  _ needed  _ what that other man possessed. The other man brushed his golden hair off his brow with a smile glinting in those hazel eyes. Strength was visible on him. A sword, tucked over his shoulder. Freckles rather than healing cuts all over his pretty face. It was sickening. 

Dream didn’t remember breaking the mirror. He supposed he didn’t. Jealousy did. The shards cast across the floor revealed his true reflection rather than what he once was and longed to be again someday. The reality: a thin man, wasting away. Hollow eyes and angry bruises on his arms. He tried to escape again yesterday. It didn’t work. 

Dizziness overtook him for no apparent reason. Dream tightly gripped the now-empty golden frame swinging in the mirror stand. Footsteps echoed up the stone stairs from the very bottom of the tower. Anxiety tightened in Dream’s stomach. Sickening. 

“Dream, you broke your new mirror.” A sickeningly sweet, coddling tone dipped into Sam’s disappointed voice. He narrowed his eyes. “And hurt your hand.”

“Oh.” Beads of blood bloomed where a shard stuck into Dream’s sickeningly pale skin. He slowly sat on his bed beside Sam, who had gathered the medical supplies. The crimson droplets spread across the cotton sheets like quick-blooming flowers. He didn’t notice when the shard came out.

Sam began to tightly wind the bandages around Dream’s palm. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he scolded in a tone meant for a kid. 

It was sickening. Everything was sickening. Breaking every reflective surface because he couldn’t stand his reflection was sickening. Watching Sam manipulate him and being too mentally exhausted to fight back was sickening. The irrepressible need to escape the tower was sickening. The amount of sickening things in his life was sickening. It hadn’t always been so sickening.

It made him want to scream.

Sam half-frowned before retreating down the stairs again and latching the door. Dream fell back onto his bed, deciding to sleep early rather than think more. Yesterday--or whenever, time didn’t mean much--he saw a man in the woods. Leaning out his window as he spent most afternoons, he’d noticed a lithe figure darting between the trees. In the past he might have cared. The ability to care left with his emotions and any scraps of energy to resist. 

He hoped he’d sleep for at least a day. There was no better way to pass the time. 

The harsh sound of clashing swords startled him far too soon. Pink early morning light cast a glow across his room. An uncomfortable breeze had slipped in due to the still-open windows. He didn’t bother to look out to see the commotion. Instead, he reached over and began tracing the patterns of the cold stone bricks making up the wall. 

“Dream!” a voice called from below. Not Sam. “Prince Dream!”

Dream forced himself up. He stretched and walked over to his open window, leaning all his weight on his elbows over the crackled stone of the ledge. It dug painfully through his skin.

Below, Sam spun in combat with a man similar in figure to the one Dream saw in the woods before. The man was shortish, with dark hair and porcelain skin. Even though he appeared entirely outmatched by Sam, he somehow seemed to be winning.  _ Of course _ . A silver pin shined on his left shoulder. An eastern mercenary’s pin.

Sam stumbled and fell to his knees. An opportunity opened for the mercenary to end it. He slashed across Sam’s abdomen instead. 

The window’s shutters slammed against the stone as Dream leaned further out into open air. The man, who’d just leveled his blade at Sam’s throat, looked up. 

“Prince Dream? Run!” he called.

Sam launched forward in the same motion as his blade. Dream stumbled back. So did the mercenary. 

Dream didn’t wait to watch the mercenary grab uselessly at the blade, to see him collapse on the ground and color the poppy patch with his blood. Instead, he grabbed the golden mirror frame with the strength of adrenaline and smashed it through the door that had locked him away for the past four years. Crashing down the stairs, he felt real again. Wild. 

He snatched a satchel off the wall and tripped on his way outside. Straightening up, he darted past Sam tending to his deep cut. He did, however, hesitate for the briefest second beside the man who’d freed him. 

Those glassy dark eyes stared up at him, unreadable. “Run, Prince. Go now or he’ll catch you. You deserve-” he coughed. More blood splattered across his tunic. “You deserve freedom.”

“It’s only a matter of time until he finds me anyway.” He went to turn on his heel, and faltered. 

The other man noticed. After another brief cough, he said, “Please don’t be a hero.”

“I am not a hero,” Dream insisted. Yet he wound his arms under the mercenary’s knees and shoulders to carry him. His run was more of a weak stumble, after two years of extremely limited moving space and with the weight of an extra person. Though he knew it would be easier to carry the man over his shoulder or on his back, he couldn’t afford moving the blade at all. If he pulled the blade out now, it would mean certain death for them both.

When he finally ran far enough from the tower to feel at least the smallest bit safe, Dream looked around. He’d forgotten it all. The whistle of the wind as it cupped his face, the finches singing in the trees, the welcoming feeling of being again connected with the ground and having an anchor. Replanting his roots. 

Wilderness was...there was no proper word for it. Ethereal. Beautiful. Nothing could cover it. Pines stretched towards the pale morning sky, their branches arched like praying hands to the world above. Needles, rather than the tall grass he’d once recalled, spread across the ground weaving an orange field in the shadows. Delicate ferns sprouted around the bases of the praying pines accompanied by soft mossy rocks. Rushing water echoed off far--but not too far--in the distance. Finches fluttered from branch to branch.

Dream eventually stopped craning his neck to watch the birds and noticed he was following a ridge. He tracked the babble of a nearby stream somewhere down to the right. Water would be good for survival. And for all he knew, he could be carrying a corpse. He needed to check. 

_ I owe him a life debt now _ , Dream thought.  _ I believe that’s how it goes. It would be inconvenient if he died. I don’t know how to live out here. I guess it’s better him than me, though.  _

Dream set the mercenary down and knelt on the rocks at the edge of the bank to gulp some water. It was freezing, a comforting icy feeling washing through him. As an afterthought, he tugged his sleeves up to his elbows and washed the cuts from the stone windowsill. 

When he finished, he sat beside the mercenary and opened the satchel. Out spilled some bandages, a pouch, one carefully packaged fish, and a tiny carving knife. Maybe it had been a hunting bag. 

Dream reached over and shook the mercenary's shoulder. He was frightfully pale and unresponsive. But he was breathing. With a few deep breaths, Dream tried to calm his anxiety. He steadied his hands around the handle of the blade and yanked. 

Panic washed over him as he sprang back. The mercenary sat up and lurched forwards as if he’d received a blow to the back. The blade lay between them.

“Are you okay?” Dream asked.

The mercenary turned towards him with a helpless expression. “Wrap it?”

“Right.” Kicking the blade away, Dream wandered back over and sat down beside the other man. 

He’d rested back on his elbows, holding his shirt up with one hand and stabilizing himself with the other. He inclined his head, then shut his eyes and leaned back. Dream reached out and began to wind the bandages around his abdomen. 

“Why did you pause?” the mercenary asked.

“What’s your name?”

The mercenary didn’t open his eyes. “George.”

“You’re burning up.” Dream laid his hand flat against the mercenary’s skin. “George.” 

George didn’t say anything. Dream accepted it as a hint to finish dressing the wound and continued. When he finished, George pushed himself into a standing position. 

“If you help me walk, we can move faster.” 

Looping his arm around George, Dream tried to steady himself on the rocky bank. They struggled back up onto the ridge. The loose soil crumbled and almost sent the tumbling back down several times. Dream reached out and pulled them the rest of the way up with a skinny tree. His heel finally sank back into the topsoil of the ridge. Beside him, George panted painfully.

“Are you okay?” Dream asked again.

“Fine. My aura will take care of it.” George inclined his head down the path. “Let’s go.”

“Aura?”

George looked up at Dream. “You really don’t know?” Dream shook his head. “I’ll explain it later. For now, we need to go. It’s getting dark, and we’re too close to  _ the  _ Valley. Bad things happen out here at night.”

They continued on stumbling down the ridge in silence. Dream tried to process his day as he trudged along. He had never coped well with sudden change. The only time he’d dealt with it before was the night his father was killed, then the day he moved from the caves to the tower. Already he knew this was the next chapter of his life--and that terrified him. 

Where was there to go? Not back to the tower, nowhere near there. Not back to the caves. That city had been burned to the ground. He had to find somewhere where people lived with hope rather than regret. He’d grown up surrounded by those craving revenge against the--as some would argue--unjust gods of their world. But maybe the people of whatever far off village he and George were going to were better. A kinder place.

He felt himself beginning to spiral, so he chased it away by observing George. When he was a kid he used to do it all the time. Memorize the details of everyone he came across in order to know exactly how to befriend them or gain leverage over them. A useful skill, for a king. Not for a runaway prince.

George wore a simple standard mercenary’s outfit to accompany his pin. Brown shirt and pants, a now-torn violet cloak. His belt had loops to store knives and other weapons. All were empty except one, where a silver cigarette case hung with a matching lighter. A seal of two intertwined snakes had been etched into the cover. Dream narrowed his eyes for a second, then glanced away. None of his business. 

His thoughts melted into a blurry stream of randomness. His steps became automatic.

George shivered beside him. They’d walked about six kilometers, long into the night. A full moon lit the path ahead. Faint glows of lanterns and fires laid not too far in the distance. They made it.

The village they approached bustled with activity even after the fall of night. People pushed about the cobble streets, providing good cover for Dream and George in their odd traveler’s clothes. George seemed to know his way around the village. He stopped in front of one of the tallest buildings, still only three stories high. The lanterns all around cast a waxy orange glow across everything. 

“We can stay here for tonight. I’m going to go buy us some supplies.” George reached into his cloak and pulled out a bag of coins. “Get us a room. Make sure it’s near an exit.” 

Hesitantly, Dream stepped inside the inn. Sudden dizziness swept him. Maybe from all the walking, maybe from the dehydration, or maybe he was just overwhelmed. At least the noise of the streets had been shut out. Inside, it was quiet enough to hear the wind.

A fire crackled in the corner of the room where a few men sat playing cards. Collections of banners hung on the dark walls, some snagged on splinters from the rough oak wood. A woman leaned at the bar, giving Dream an expectant look. He narrowed his eyes. She had a hood and cloak on indoors.

“Do you need a room?” she asked.

Dream stepped up to the desk. “Alyssa, what are you doing here.” Not a question. He knew. “Nevermind. Just give me a room for two, and  _ don’t  _ follow us tomorrow.”

She straightened up, letting her hood fall. “I was sent to protect you. Circumstances change, but bound missions don’t. I’ll try my best to stay away, but…”

“Right. You can stay close if it will keep you safer from his holiness’s wrath,” Dream replied with blatant discontent towards the god Alyssa served, “but let me do this alone. I’m choosing my own path.”

She nodded and handed him a set of silver keys. “One final match?”

“Place your bets,” Dream said with a smile. As much as he disagreed with Alyssa’s choices in life, they had been friends. He missed familiarity. Inside jokes.

The inn room looked like a shrunken down version of the entryway. One bed against each wall with a fireplace in between. A few candles sat on the mantle. The windows hung open, letting icy air in. Dream sighed and lit a candle. He had absolutely no plan of what to do with his life. He was entirely winging it, and he was terrified.

Out in the hall, the floorboards creaked. George threw open the door and gently shut it behind him. Snowflakes dusted his hair. He threw his sheath off, collapsing on the bed by the door without hesitation. Dream sat on the other bed and stared into the fire. There were so many questions he wanted to ask.

“Where did you come from? Why did you come?” 

“Prince Dream,” George said, rolling over to face him, “I don’t want to talk. It’s best we know nothing about each other. My life...needs to remain secret.”

“I want to know why you did what you did,” Dream insisted. “And don’t call me prince. Just Dream.”

“Okay. I want to ask you one thing, though--what’s your real name?”

He startled, his gaze snapping from the fire back to George. “I don’t remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary- George rescues Dream from the tower where he was held captive for the past two years. They travel east, the same direction as the Valley of the Gods. Alyssa is following them in the shadows because of a job she is sworn into (will be expanded on).


	3. Crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey continues, and Dream and George get closer. This chapter doesn't have much action & is more for character insight, next chapter is where everything goes to shit so there's bit more action. Lots of foreshadowing and references :)

The two men prepared themselves for another long journey in silence. George was already gone when Dream woke, his bandages discarded on the floor. Dream sighed and rummaged through the clothes George bought the night before.

He draped an emerald cloak over a new loose shirt and leather pants. Holes had worn in his boots, but George had taken the only pair he’d bought. At least there were new gloves.  _ Thank the gods _ . His relief was short. Dream stared at himself in the mirror hung above the fire for a moment. He sucked in a few deep breaths. It would get better. He would  _ not _ shy away from his reflection. The mirror stayed whole and unbroken. Dream envied that as he shut the room door behind him.

A light snow had fallen overnight, leaving the morning air crisp. The hooves of other guest’s horses stomped through the layer of snow-covered leaves with a pleasant crunch. Dream wandered around the back of the inn, meaning to prop himself against the freezing metal pipe and stare off into the woods until he was entirely numb. Subjecting himself to extremes fixed something in him that he couldn’t name.

When he turned the corner, he saw that George leaned against the wall already, eyes closed. Delicate snowflakes had gathered on his dark hair and long eyelashes. He looked like a beautiful statue with his pronounced jawline and porcelain skin set off by the midnight blue of his cloak. His sword lay in the snow beside him, only the engraved part left out of the sheath. Dream watched silently.

Slowly, George’s eyes flickered open. He raised his priorly concealed left hand to take a drag of a cigarette and cast it aside. Pale blue smoke mixed with his visible breath in the icy winter air. “We’re off, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dream replied flatly and began walking. George easily matched his pace as they entered back into the forest. “You seem better.”

“I’m fine.”

“Care to tell me where we’re going?” Dream’s temper became unusually bad in the moment. “You can tell me some details, you know. There is no reason for me to harm you in any way when you’re the only support I have.”

“You have Alyssa,” George offered, avoiding the question. He craned his neck to watch three crows fly overhead in the silver sky as they entered the forest. When he looked back at Dream, he gave an annoyed sigh. “Fine, I’ll tell you something.”

_ This better be good. _

“I love crows. I think they’re beautiful birds, and I used to have a pet one.” 

The crows landed on a nearby tree branch, drawing his attention again. An eerie silence had fallen in the forest after the snow. Blue shadows stretched westward. Dream knew it was silly, but he wondered if the world was trying to tell him to go back. Return to the place he belonged to. In captivity. Technically, he reigned as the King of the Broken South. In reality, Sam pulled the strings without consulting him while Dream wasted away in the top few floors of the tower. He hadn’t seen his home country in years, something his heart ached to think about. Supposedly, it was meant to give him time to heal from  _ that night  _ in the caves. He didn’t want to think about that night.

Maybe an easier life lies in nothingness, but if that were true, there was no point to it. Life’s whole purpose was to challenge and bleed and be crushed after being wholeheartedly trusting or brutally honest. The whole beauty in life was how much of a poison all lovely things become. Fascination with terrifying beauty, and the rewarding exhilaration of overcoming the seemingly impossible internal and external battles of existence. 

Dream pictured himself daring, different. What he had the potential to become if he walked this path and became persistent. He would live a painful but fulfilling life. One that would likely last a year more at the very most. He didn’t care. The thought almost made him laugh. Whether tomorrow morning or millenia from that day, it would never matter. When Dream fell, he would go laughing, knowing he took risks and saw the whole world at its most vulnerable. Persistence.

“Tell me more. Like I said, you have every reason to trust me. I trust no one. If you like,” he added, as an afterthought, “I could be loyal to solely you.” George laughed. The pleasant sound eased Dream from the somewhat dark place he’d gone. “I’m serious,” he said, a laughing tone sneaking into his own voice.

“You could be useful,” George hummed, still a bit jokingly.

Dream wanted to laugh, he wanted to have fun. He took a few steps ahead of George and turned to walk backwards. Spreading his hands, he said, “I am very useful. I, uh-” His mind blanked.

George smiled and glanced off to the side. “You’re a king.”

“I am!”

“That’s not useful. You need to learn to kill.”

“That, I could do.”

Exhilarated by laughter, Dream noticed himself starting to feel real again. He glanced over his shoulder to hide a smile. They walked on in silence again after that, but the tensions had broken a bit. 

Hours and hours later after scraps of conversation and a couple quick breaks at the stream, the sky colored pale orange. The nearest village was still miles off. The only option was to set up camp in the middle of the hostile forests. It wasn’t safe to make a fire or do anything that could draw attention to them. So as the sweet darkness fell, they searched for close trees to string a blanket between and huddle under. 

“I found a spot,” George called, a few minutes later. Dream stepped off the path into the trees to look for him.

George stood on the very edge of a cliff, staring off at the soft golden sky. He’d tugged his midnight blue cloak tight around him and left his blade in the snow. Trust. And something about the golden light made him look more alive. His marks, the visual effects of possessing magic, usually made him look disturbingly similar to the drowning victims Dream had often seen in the caves with those blue lips and translucent looking skin. 

Dream turned his attention back to the sight ahead. Below, an enormous valley stretched to the horizon. The once-praying pines now humbly bent under the weight of the snow, sleeping until they could stand tall again. Birds danced between the sloped branches, their song filling the air. George whistled a tune and the bird mocked him with perfect accuracy. Dream took a deep breath. So much beauty. 

He could find a place in this world. Fall in love with it again. No longer a jagged glass shard that didn’t fit back in the frame, but a puzzle piece settling into its designated place. 

The ground below them rumbled in a strange river-like flow coming from the northern end of the valley and passing straight beneath the cliff they stood upon. The two men glanced at each other, and George shrugged. Dream followed him back to their things, but he couldn’t help but wonder why George was so desperately trying to conceal the fear that Dream saw on his face for a split second when the ground shook.

Despite the far from ideal situation of their camp, something about the night was still peaceful. With their shoulders pressed together, Dream could feel each one of George’s shaky breaths. He tipped his head back against the tree. A few snowflakes slowly drifted through the biting air. The crows from earlier looked down on them through the velvety darkness. 

Dream shuddered. The two blankets they had with them did little for warmth, and George wasn’t very warm, either. The thought of his final end being freezing to death in a pine forest almost made Dream want to laugh. Beside him, George stared straight forwards with his eyes wide open.

“Hey,” Dream nudged him. He pointed towards the crows. “Look, they followed us.”

The corner of George’s mouth twitched up for a second but he didn’t react. His unfocused gaze settled in again. 

“Try to get some sleep?”

“It’s too cold here.”

“Sorry.”

-

Most days on the road to poured. Blinding rain that made one feel totally isolated. Not that the journey was friendly on sunny days either. George and Dream hardly talked. But somehow a sort of attachment formed between them. At the first sign of danger, rather than fending for themselves, at some point they began standing back to back. Defending each other when there was trouble in whatever little tavern they stopped by. Watching out for each other. And every day, they talked a bit more.

“If you weren’t unhinged, I’d honestly be terrified of you,” George said one morning. He leaned against the “23 kilometres to Ameycos” sign, cleaning the blood of a deer off the blade of his cane. It’s silver gears whirred and clicked with a comforting rhythm. That deer they hunted the previous night was...wrong. Dream thought it better not to dwell on it.

“Oh, come on.” Dream said teasingly and adjusted his grip on the sword handle and slashed through the air a few times. “I’m not scary.”

George laughed lightly. “You could be.” He glanced over his shoulder. “We should go. Ready?”

Another silent walk began. The silence was refreshing, leaving only the sounds of birds and George peeling a clementine. Where he got it, Dream had no idea. Something about the whole situation felt so utterly humanizing. 

Enormous rocks rose to the left of the path, but the pines still reached higher.  _ Branches extended like praying hands.  _ It hadn’t been long enough for him to stop marveling at the wilderness yet. Little patches of orange mushrooms growing by moss lined the paths. Down the slight slope, between them and the rocks, laid that same steam they followed since the tower. A week later, and it never left their side.

-

“Do you ever wonder what happened to your kingdom?” George asked. He stabbed his cane into the dirt again as they climbed up a steep hill. The river bank had sloped downwards a few days ago, but they needed to be on the high ridge to get to Ameycos. 

Dream clenched his teeth as another rock slipped out from under his boot. “Not really. It wasn’t ever home. The caves were always more of a home to me.”

“Didn’t you have a brother?”

With a bit of annoyance, Dream paused and looked over his shoulder. “You have a lot of questions today, but I still don’t get to ask anything about you?”

“I’ve told you enough.”

Right. In the past ten days, Dream learned a lot more about George. George was a mercenary for money, but his true passion was art. George was left handed. George liked salmon better than cod. George’s favorite color was blue. George lived with his two friends in Ameycos. And a lot more, but it was all random shit like that. 

Dream didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to lash out with frustration. 

A few minutes later, they finally crested the hill. The warm lights of the final village standing between them and Ameycos appeared in the distance. They walked on, the only sound being the crunching of their boots through the snow and the whistle of the wind.

Over the past weeks, the prince and the mercenary had learned to work together. They walked in step together, thought together, even their hearts beat together when they sat against each other to sleep. But a resentment still lay between them. Dream felt it uncomfortably there, and knew George did, too. They clashed more often than made him stay reassured. Though Dream had no choice, and had to blindly follow George on to Ameycos. 

Ameycos, “the living city”, finally within reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream & George leave the inn. Dream is confused by some of George's habits and frustrated that he's keeping everything a secret. They walk almost the entire way to Ameycos in about three weeks. The crows are important, so keep an eye out for them later :)
> 
> cw for smoking and implied suicidal thoughts


	4. Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream finally reach Ameycos, and Dream realizes things are about to get a lot more difficult than he thought after an unexpected betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new characters! there will be another person showing up next chapter that i'm really excited about, and as i said earlier, this is the tipping point right before everything goes to absolute shit :)
> 
> cw for implied self harm like actions

The little village that lay before their destination’s inn barely qualified as an inn. There were only four rooms. The inside looked the same as every other, only slightly smaller. 

George furiously yanked at the shutters. “This window won’t fucking close,” he grumbled.

“You’re going to break the glass,” Dream pointed out, trying to stifle a laugh. “I don’t think whatever’s bothering you is the window’s fault.” They were both exhausted, meaning Dream found everything absolutely hilarious and George was just pissy.

With a glare, George stopped and sunk down on his bed. “It took me almost a year to find you. I didn’t tell my friends I left, and I’m worried how they’ll react. Besides, I also have to figure out who to pass you off to.”   
  


Dream paused halfway across the room. That was information, something he hadn’t heard before. Something more solid than a random fact. He would’ve asked more about it, but the tone of what George said about dealing with him washed over him with an unpleasant coldness. “What? You’re just going to...exchange me with someone?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” George sighed. “I meant that I don’t feel like looking after you anymore and you’re not ready to be off on your own.”

“I’m not convinced.”

George raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Something tells me,” Dream crossed the room and gently closed the window, “That you care. About me. For some reason.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered: Did he truly believe that? Or was he so desperate for someone to  _ actually _ like him for once? Not abuse him, not use him, not want him dead.  _ Care  _ about him enough to stick with him. A real friend.

George frowned insincerely. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one cares about you anymore. I don’t mean to be harsh. I just want you to know.”

Dream nodded and turned back out towards the window. His heart stung. Definitely the second one.

A wild laugh rose up in him, for forgetting that George was  _ not  _ his friend. He wished he could let his mind wander elsewhere. To sleep, to plan for the future. Yet his mind spun. Something about George’s uneven reply left Dream unconvinced. 

You don’t unnecessarily lay your life down for someone and  _ not care _ .

“I’m going to buy some more supplies.” George paused in the doorway of their room and looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t touch my stuff.”   
  


A few hours passed. Dream sat uselessly on his bed and stared at the fire. The flames danced around in a welcoming fashion. He stood and stretched, then knelt before the fire. He needed to clear his mind. To think. He had been too overwhelmed the past week, and that was dangerous.

The familiar cool sensation tamed his frustration a bit. He had to stay with George--though he’d still neglected to mention why he’d saved him. Dream had still come to consider him nice company even though they clearly couldn’t be friends. He trusted him, and he was all he had left. 

Behind him, the door banged open. What sounded like an armful of things clattered to the floor. George lunged forwards, yanking Dream back roughly by his shoulders. Dream grabbed for his gloves and backed against the wall.

“Give me your hands. What the hell were you doing?”

Dream, heart pounding, swallowed hard and shook his head. “You- don’t ask about it. You weren’t meant to-”

“You’ve ruined your hands. A lot.” George went to dig in his satchel and brought back the bandages. Dream backed up.   
  


“Don’t push me around like that again,” he snapped. He stood and brushed the other man aside. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then don’t shove your hands in the fire.” George shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

Dream flexed his left hand a bit, then shut his eyes and inhaled. Little flames sprouted on each of his fingertips. With a turn of his hand, ice crystals crawled up his arm instead. He pressed his palms together and exhaled. The air stilled, time stilled. 

“ _ Oh _ .” George sat unblinking, his mouth open. He shook his head. “That’s not normal magic. The burning is power dampening, isn’t it? You shouldn’t do it.”

“If I didn’t, I’d go insane.”

George let out a harsh laugh. “You already have.”

-

Dream glanced over his shoulder where the three crows had been perched in the tree behind them. The sun already dipped below the horizon hours ago. Snow swirled around them, blocking view of everything over a few centimeters away. He could practically hear George shaking behind him. 

“How are we not there yet?” Dream asked through clenched teeth.

George trudged ahead a bit. “We’re here now.”

“What?” He couldn’t see anything. The ground ahead did seem to have an odd slope, and they had gone from forest into open plains without him noticing. A faint hum of something echoed in the distance. Dream stepped forward. He would’ve slipped right off a cliff if George hadn’t yanked him back. He shook off George’s hand. “What is that?”   
  


“Are you ready?”

“For what?”

George reached out through the snow and grabbed Dream’s hand, leading him forwards. Dream stumbled for a bit before his feet settled on a thin ledge. Below him, the snow floated more slowly. Winding stairs stacked down the side of a terrifying cliff. They descended in careful steps. That whisper of civilization grew louder and louder. Lights appeared on the horizon.

“What is…” He inhaled sharply. “Oh. Wow.”

Ameycos was nothing like the western cities. Dark buildings of oak wood and stone brick crowded together in a small valley, jars of  _ alium naturam ignis  _ strung between the buildings. The warm glow poured life into everything. People rushed around the snow covered streets. Their chatter was music to Dream’s ears. And there was actual music, soft piano, drifting from one of the taller buildings. Bridges extended between the tallest towers. The city felt like a traveler’s perfect home.

George pointed towards a medium height building of stone close to the outskirts of the city. “That’s where I live.”

“This place is amazing,” Dream said, still wide-eyed as they stumbled down the rest of the stairs. 

“I thought it wouldn’t be anything to you compared to your home.” George paused for a moment when he stepped down onto the street and looked up at snow drifting across the navy sky with stupid smile. 

They wound through the streets, and the more he saw, the more calm he felt. “It’s all beautiful, but this is new.”

Once inside, they had to climb excessively more stairs to get to the top floor. Dream felt a bit dizzy. The cold and exhaustion had overtaken him. To keep from collapsing on the stairs, he focused on the stained glass windows they would pass occasionally. Each one told its own story so perfectly it looked straight out of history or mythology.

George halted at the top of the stairs. “It’s unlocked.”

“Go in,” Dream encouraged. He needed to lay down.

With a deep breath, George pushed the door open. 

All Dream could see was color. More stained glass, so much more detailed and complex than the others. Painted vases and pots lined the window sills. Woven tapestries hung over the archways likely leading back to the bedrooms. All the furniture and floors were covered by heaps of blankets or splatters of paint. Trays of orange cream sandwich cookies sat on the table right inside the door. George picked up a cookie, leaving Dream in the doorway.

Then Dream noticed they weren’t alone. At the other end of the apartment by the windows, two men stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink beside a pile of dishes, disheveled and laughing. They actually looked happy. Then one of them, the one with the darker curly hair, glanced over his shoulder.

A dish clattered in the sink. “George?”

George’s face broke into a genuine grin. “Ant!” 

The other man turned around as George and Ant hugged. “George, we thought you were lost.” He wrapped his arms around the other two. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Hey, Red. I’m-” he hesitated. “I’m alright.”

Ant looked over at Dream. “Who are you?”

“That’s Dream,” George said, pulling a chair out and sitting down at the table. His sword and bag dropped to the floor. Ant and Red took what appeared to be their usual seats as well, leaving Dream staring at the empty chair. “Dream, sit. We have to talk.” Reluctantly, he complied.

“You owe us an explanation,” Ant said, turning to George. “I knew you weren’t dead, but I thought you left for good.”

“I know, I’ll explain.” And he did. As George talked through his perspective of things, Dream found himself staring into a candle across the room to avoid drifting off. He desperately needed a break. From change, from people, from existing.

When George finished, they all sat in silence. “George,” Red said after a minute or two, voice a bit strained, “You could have left a note.”

George sat back like it had never occurred to him.

“So what are you doing now?” Ant asked. 

“We aren’t staying long. I wanted to come explain myself and get horses. We’re going back west to the Broken South. So Dream can take back his throne, and I can have my regular life back.”

All of Dream’s exhaustion vanished as his heart pounded painfully against his throat. The air left his lungs. He felt heat rising in his fingertips. “I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?”

“You’re a king, not a prince. I’m a craftsman, not a mercenary. When I left to free you, I upset a balance.” George’s stare was cold and unforgiving. “We are going to fix everything, and part ways forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George hides that he thinks of Dream as a friend. They continue to Ameycos, where George reunites with his roommates Antfrost and RedVelvet. George tells Dream his plan to get him back on his throne without asking him about it at all.


	5. Fair Fare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream made the journey to the South only to find things very different from how Dream left them. They run into someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but you'll see why :)  
> George's dialogue about aura is taken straight from Pyrrah's lines in Chapter 6, Volume 1 of RWBY
> 
> cw for graphic violence, vomit, blood, death, smoking

The forest looked so blue after spending a week in the warm lantern light of Ameycos. Dream kept a few feet ahead, determined to ignore how uncomfortable the once comfortable traveling silence had become. Snow from the beginning of the week--now about up to his mid-calf--slowed their walk a damaging amount. Luckily, they didn’t have to walk the entire way to the southern coast. A quiet train ride through the countryside gave Dream some much-needed time to think. 

“Can we stop for water?”

Dream glanced over his shoulder. George gave him an expectant look. Normally, he would’ve questioned him on the stop so soon after their last one. But with one hand holding a cigarette and the other “casually” resting on his sheath, George looked a bit prepared for a fight. Dream gave a hesitant nod and turned to shuffle down the bank towards the nearby creek.

_ Thank the gods it’s clear water _ , Dream thought as he emptied and refilled his canteen. George leaned over to say something, pressing them together from shoulder to ankle. 

“We’re being followed,” he whispered. “Seven people, two armed with crossbows and the rest with swords. They’ll attack in about two minutes.” He stood abruptly and hiked back up the bank. 

_ Yeah, idiot, separate when we’re about to be attacked.  _ Dream rushed after him. He desperately wanted to ask how George figured out so much detail about people slipping through the forest and entirely unseen. He supposed that would need to wait until later, assuming the two of them could fight off seven people.

A stick snapped in the woods. George and Dream immediately backed up against each other, shields raised. Just as George had predicted, seven people rushed from the forest, four going for George and three for Dream.

Commotion blurred around Dream. He raised his shield, deflecting a few swings, but things were moving to fast for him to keep up. One of the people slashed across the back of his calf and his leg buckled. As Dream fell, he twisted and slashed his sword across the person’s throat. He pushed himself up in the same second and drove his sticky blade through the second person’s stomach. His leg buckled, but he managed to raise his shield in time to block the next blow from the third person. Despite the dead-cold winter, sweat ran down his temple. Apparently the training he’d done with Sam when they were younger had not been completely lost to time.

George was still surrounded by three people, having taken only one of them down. Another glanced over their shoulder and broke off to attack Dream. They hadn’t been fighting for long, but taking two people on with no openings was wearing them both down quickly. As the height of adrenaline faded, Dream found himself mistepping. One of the people slashed downwards.  _ I’m done. I’m done. _

He glanced over at George. Time slowed. George threw out a hand. Ice extended from his fingertips and flew in perfect arcs right into the hearts of Dream’s two opponents. In that split second, one of the attackers drove their sword straight through George’s abdomen. He stumbled. Yet still, a furious whirl of ice burst from his raised palms and cut through the remaining attacker’s throats. 

George collapsed. Dream launched forwards, not in time to stop him from hitting the ground with a crack of his shoulder. He tugged up George’s already damp shirt. Nausea washed over him at the sight of the wound. “You got lucky,” he said, trying to stay steady as he pulled out the leftover wrap from his satchel. Barely enough. “They got you in the exact same spot as last time.”

“Wait.” George propped himself up on his elbows. “I need a cigarette first.”

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

Dream reached around his side and opened the silver case to light a cigarette. “Fine.” He started to wrap the wound while George tilted his head back and took a drag. Light blue smoke mixed with their breaths in the air. When he finished doing the best dressing he could in the moment, Dream looked up and noticed a faint blue electricity crackling around George. 

“Why do you really need the cigarettes?”

“My aura,” George replied, like it was simple. His eyes fluttered but didn’t open. “I’ll explain it to you soon. I need rest.”

“Sure.” Dream tried to calm his curiosity as he helped George limp over to a tree. They set up for the night as they always did, back to a tree, shoulder-to-shoulder, freezing under a blanket that got less and less warm as time went on. 

Dream couldn’t sleep again that night. He watched snow drift through the velvety darkness.  _ Gods _ , he thought,  _ I can’t wait until I’m home _ . Usually that was a comforting thought. Home was less than a day away now. But something unnameable nagged him. For some reason, he felt like he was leaving something behind.

-

“Okay. You need to learn about aura.” 

“You can’t stand,” Dream pointed out. George had his hand pressed over his blood-soaked bandages, leaning heavily on his left side. With his free hand, he gripped a nearby tree.

George tried to look annoyed, but his expression was still humored. He pushed himself off the tree and took a few wobbly steps towards Dream. “You want to know about the cigarettes,” he said, more of a confirmation than a question. “When I was a kid, there was an...accident. I almost drowned. I _ did _ drown. There was water in my lungs.” He let out a little subconscious cough like he could still feel the weight of that water on every breath. “It shattered my aura to the point I couldn’t heal. That’s why I look like I do. Between my marks and fading magic and broken aura, I got stuck looking like I did when they pulled me out of the lake.” He shuddered. “I was eight when it happened, and nine when they got me the cigarettes. There’s something in them that’s slowly healing my aura. But while it heals my aura, it’s destroying my lungs. A trade off for a few more years of life.”

Dream’s mind spun too fast for him to keep up. “You’re dying?”

“I’m twenty-four right now, and I’m supposed to live to thirty.”

_ That’s why I look like I do. _ Dream stood still, mouth slightly open. His thoughts were still racing. George did have some similar look to the people who drowned in accidents in the caves. His lips were swollen and purple, his skin paler than normal pale, his veins a bit too visible. But dying? It was so awful, and George didn’t seem to care.

Suddenly, Dream realized what he felt like he was leaving behind. 

He shook his head. “Teach me about aura. I don’t understand it.”

“Aura is the manifestation of our souls. It bears our burdens and shields our hearts. Have you ever felt like you were being watched without knowing someone was there?”

Dream tilted his head to the side. “Yeah?”

“With practice, our aura can be our shields. Everyone has it, even animals.”

“What about the Dark God’s creatures? The ones who mercilessly slaughter humans- the Grimm. They don’t seem like the type of monster to deserve it.”   
  


“The creatures of Grimm lack souls. They are the manifestation of anonymity. They are the darkness, and we are the light.”   
  


“So why do we have aura? What makes us  _ good  _ enough to deserve it?”

“It’s not about why. It’s about knowing. It’s about understanding that both dark and light help us manifest our aura. Everyone has some of both. By bearing your soul outward as a force, you can deflect harm. All of mankind’s tools and equipment are conduits for aura. You project yourself and your soul when fighting.” George took a step forward and placed one hand on Dream’s forehead and the other over his heart. “Now close your eyes and concentrate.”

Dream nodded. He swallowed back his unexplained anxiety in the moment. 

“For it is impassing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and bound in death. I release thy soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee.”

A glow of crackling blue surrounded George. Dream looked down at his hands, now bathed in white light. “What was that?”   
  


George stepped back and shrugged. “Aura-unlocking ritual. It’s as old as time. I guess I should have warned you first. The binding creates a connection for two people’s auras. When one of us gets hurt, the other will feel a tug. It’s a transferring of aura that allows us to borrow each other’s when we need. I would have you heal me now,” he said, lifting a crimson-stained hand from his wound, “But you might accidentally explode me instead.”

“I don’t understand what you said at all, so I suppose I still have no reason to be mad.” Dream looped his arm through George’s again. 

They wandered off into the still pines, only a few kilometers from the southern kingdom. The ground began to slope, the trees changing from pines to scrubby brush. In a matter of hours, the flat cliff looking out over the kingdom was in view. 

“Are you ready?” George asked.

“Not at all.”

“I-”

Something flashed, cutting George off mid-sentence. Dream raised his arm to block the light and blinked. The silhouette of a man appeared on the cliff’s edge ahead. When the flash faded, he came into focus. 

He looked young, maybe around their age. His rusty brown hair was rumple and he wore odd clothes in cuts and bright colors Dream had never seen before. He stood, back facing the pair, not seeming to have noticed them.

“I’m too late,” he gasped. “Are you kidding me?” He whirled around and stumbled back as he took in the sight of George leaning on Dream, blood actively soaking through his bandages. His hand flew to his mouth, and it almost looked like he was tearing up.

Dream studied the odd man closer. His left hand was clenched around what appeared to be a golden pocket watch. The chain was tangled with the chain of a fine gold locket also hanging around his neck. There was a swirl the color of a prismarine on the front of his odd jacket. 

“George,” the odd man said. “S-”

George stepped back, his hand going to the handle of his cane. “How do you know my name? Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“Please, George, listen.” The man shook his head. “Don’t stay with Dream. You have to go now. Please.”

Dream stepped protectively in front of George and opened his mouth to say something, but George spoke first. “Why?”   
  


“Oh come on. You’re not actually going to listen to him, are you? He just  _ appeared  _ from nowhere.”

George narrowed his eyes and gave Dream an unreadable look. He turned back to the odd man. “Why?”

“If you don’t, it will-” the man cut off. He had tried to step between them, and Dream pushed him back. The odd man’s eyes darkened as he looked Dream up and down. Unexpected fear rose in Dream. This was already weird enough, but the way he looked at him was the look of someone who had been deeply wronged. This was personal.

“Where did you come from?” Dream asked, echoing George’s earlier question. A crazy thought surfaced.

Instead of answering, the man looked down at his pocket watch. “I have to go,” he said, and started to dissolve into light again. Dream reached out just in time to break the fine chain of his locket and yank it off his neck. The light disappeared with an abrupt flash, and he was alone again. 

He pried open the round golden locket to find two pictures inside. On the left, there was a boy with brown hair and a white bandana sitting by a fire and laughing, an orange cloak wrapped around him with a sword strapped to his back. On the right, there was a different boy with a wicked scar down his throat and across his cheek wearing a blue jacket and an odd hat, smiling and looking out over the open sky. Dream’s gut told him he would need the locket later, so he tucked it into his pocket and turned to look at George.

George was laying on his back and taking painful deep breaths. “I need you to heal me. With your aura.”

_ What the hell? He was fine a minute ago.  _ “I thought it was too dangerous.”

“We don’t really have a choice. I’m losing too much blood, and my aura…” He opened the silver case on his belt, revealing that it was now empty. 

“George?”

“It’s alright. I used my aura to unlock yours--but the energy that protects you now is your own. You have a lot of it.” He reached out for Dream to pull him up. “Visualize a glowing shield around yourself.” 

Dream looked down and turned over his hands. They glowed a soft greenish color. Light crawled over his hands, leaving clean scar tissue in their wake rather than the mutilated skin from before. He was finally healing.  _ Oh gods. _ His left hand flew to his face where he met more soft skin. It healed  _ all  _ his scars. 

George had stepped back, looking amused. “How do you feel?”

“Flawless…” he trailed off. “Is this how you healed so fast the first time?”

“Mmm hmm. Now try using it.” George made an encircling motion with his hands. “Put your hands on my shoulders and picture a branch of your power extending with your arm.”

Hesitantly, Dream stretched out his hands. The light crackled from them and surrounded him. But it didn’t feel comforting anymore. It was drowning him, suffocating, he couldn’t breathe and he needed air needed air needed air needed-

A flash and crack like lightning shot through the forest and bent all the trees within a square kilometer. The soft green shimmered about the air. Dream didn’t see it. He was thrown backwards towards the cliff. A sickening crack echoed through the clearing.  _ Was that me?  _

Sickness welled up in him and he leaned over to vomit. As he was hunched over, a slick liquid dripped over his lips.  _ Blood _ . It flowed from his nose and ears.

“What the hell did you do to me, George?” he said, panicked. No response. He looked up, and George was gone. “George?”

A faint wheeze came from aways to the left. Down the slope a bit, George sat bent uncomfortably against a tree. The blue light of his aura shattered around him. He’d been thrown in the flash and hit the tree when trying to shield himself. 

Dream skittered down the slope, coming to a stop in front of him. He ignored the blood sticky on his hands as he cupped George’s face. “Are you okay?”

George made another painful choked sound and tapped his hand over his collarbones.  _ He couldn’t breathe. _

“No,” Dream exhaled. “No, you have to stay with me. Please breathe. You can’t go.”

He tried to gasp, but only hoarse empty sounds came out. Dream glanced around frantically, then turned back to George with a desperate look in his eyes. He didn’t know what to do. George closed his mouth and half smiled, covering Dream’s hand with his own. He went limp. His hand dropped.

Dream scooted back, heart thundering. He couldn’t think.

_ I am alone, he is gone, I am alone, he is gone, I am alone, he is gone. _

George was dead. And Dream killed him.

_ It isn’t fair _ , Dream thought. He unclenched his fists and picked up George’s body.  _ He was good. He tried to help me. I have to fix this. It’s not fair. _

An empty breeze rustled his hair. In that moment of shock and anger, Dream realized he never even reached the city. His kingdom should be just over the hill. There was still something left for him. But if there was an entire kingdom over the cliff, why was it so quiet? Dream gently set down George’s body. He took deliberately slow steps towards the edge. It was obvious was he would see, it was stupid to hope. 

The once-beautiful glass domes and terracotta buildings were rubble. Ashes drifted through the air, mixed with scraps of vibrant fabrics. The once breathtaking view now looked out over a dead kingdom. Dream fell to his knees. 

Nothing. He had nothing left.

Rather than make a rash decision, he stood and looked over at where he had laid George. “Everything...everything has a solution, right? And there is a way…” he mumbled to himself. He tipped his head up to the clearing in the trees, letting sunlight impale his hazel eyes and burn his empty soul. Nothing left. All options must be exhausted.

There was a way to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George and Dream are almost at the Southern Kingdom when they are attacked for no known reason. George's old wound is opened and he doesn't have enough aura strength to stay stable. Dream relies on there being a healer in the kingdom and they continue. When they arrive, Karl appears after time traveling to the wrong point in history and is shocked to see Dream and George as friends. He tries to get George to leave Dream, but has to travel again before he succeeds. Dream takes Karl's locket that has pictures of Sapnap and Quackity in it. George collapses and tries to have Dream use his aura to heal him. Dream's aura is untested and too powerful, so it creates and energy burst that throws them apart. George hit a tree and breaks his ribs and one of the broken bones punctures his lung. Dream sees that his kingdom has been destroyed. He realizes he has nothing left and has a realization that there is an unorthodox solution to his situation.


	6. Creators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream makes his second razing mistake, soon to be at the expense of humanity's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, it gets good. This is where the rich plot comes in. I think this was my favorite chapter to write that has been posted so far.
> 
> content warning: disturbing imagery, injury mention, death

Reading can only teach one so much. The diagrams of people with circles and squares boxing in their muscles to depict them spinning or thrusting a spear. They were wrong. He had poured over them for hours, and yet learned truly nothing. Combat wasn’t uniform. 

It was more of a delicate dance, two partners aiming to kill but matching the other’s steps in an almost graceful way nonetheless. A whirlwind of panting, darting about, side stepping, bending the blade as need be. It felt so close to the dancing the prince recalled from his childhood that it became painful to think about. 

Yet he continued to practice every single day. He needed to be better. Every practice ended--sooner or later--with him slammed into the ground, against a tree, on his back, into a stream, with the point of Sam’s sword at his heart. Always quickly exchanged for an extended hand. 

“You can’t learn everything from reading,” said Sam as they sat down for lunch of a few apple slices and some leftover venison. 

Instead of answering, Dream leaned back in the sunlight, propping his head on his stack of books. He and Sam fell back into their old rhythm easily. Of course, there was still blatant anger and tension between them, but Dream understood why things happened how they had now. His reaching out to Sam was total desperation. For once, he’d made a good choice.

Occasionally, he would feel like he was home. Growing up in the caves and practicing combat with Sam while studying with Alyssa--that had been his true childhood. Not the faint glimpse of royalty he remembered from before that. He felt young again, like he was regaining some of the childhood he’d lost to violence. But then he would glance over his shoulder or shift his hand and see or feel George’s body and violent sickness would rush over him again. Things changed. He could barely get himself up every morning, barely stand the brush of his own skin at times.

Dream was the happiest he’d been in years, and somehow more sick of everything than ever before.

Sam squinted at him. “So, are you going to explain what happened yet?”

“Nope.” Dream stood, brushing the pine needles off his cloak, and gathered up his books and pack. We have a train to catch.” 

“How are we supposed to get a body onto a train without raising any alarms?” Sam hauled George into the gurney of sorts they’d made for him, and then two of them started the walk to the nearby train station.

“We jump.”

“Right. Sure.”   
  


The quiet walk through the sun-blooming fields swept the afternoon away easily. By the time they reached the far end of the train down the tracks, Dream’s legs were threatening to give out. He bent over to pick up a loose stake from the track and tuck it in his pack before gesturing to the end car.

“That isn’t too high of a jump to make. I’ll go in, then you pass George up, and I’ll pull you in. No one checks the back cars of these trains.”

Sam nodded and motioned towards the car for them to get started. The inside of the car was completely empty and freezing apart from a few boxes. Once they settled down, Dream wrapped his cloak tight and shut his eyes. Sam slammed the doors shut.

A few minutes later, there was a tugging on the door that made a vicious screech. They glanced from each other to the doors, alarmed, but there was nowhere to hide in this tiny space. Not that they would’ve had time. The door slid back and a person in an icy blue cloak with matching plated armor pulled himself in, who then turned to help a man with a black cloak and red trimmed hood in.

“Skeppy,” the second man gasped, facing George with his hood still hiding his eyes. He sounded familiar. “There’s people in here killing someone!”

Something about the tone of his voice made an already delirious Dream want to laugh like a maniac. “We’re not killing him,” he said in a flat voice. “He’s already dead.”

“That just makes it  _ worse _ !” the man exclaimed.

“Does it?” Dream stood and brushed dust off his clothes. “We’re trying to help him.”

“Bad,” the first man, the one he’d called Skeppy, said. “We don’t have time to find another train.”

Dream leaned forwards. “Wait, Bad? I used to know someone called Bad and you sound like him. Are you a healer from the palace in the Southern Kingdom?”

“Yes!” Bad tugged his hood down. “Are you-”   
  


“Yeah, I am,” Dream said with a smile, quickly stopping Bad from saying his true name. Another piece of home. Things were coming together. For a second, he did that stupid thing he kept doing where he convinced himself everything was alright. But then he thought about George laying behind him.  _ I have to keep going. Everything isn’t right for him, and it’s my fault. _

As he sat down with Bad and they started talking about everything that happened since they last saw each other, his mind was filled with that maddening chorus of  _ it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair _ .

_ Fair _ . Dream internally laughed to himself as Bad went on about what happened after the king’s assassination.  _ What the fuck does that even mean anymore? _

-

Thankfully, the four of them only had to ride in that dark, dusty car for three days until they reached the scooping valley near the middle of the southern continent. Dream spilled out of the train onto weak legs, gasping for fresh air. A pair of crows flew by. He gazed out over the open fields stretching towards the dip in the land known as the Valley of the Gods. Older legends, from a time before the gods humbled themselves to man-sized beings that could be approached, told that the Valley was the footprint of a giant god. 

Dream clenched his jaw as he picked George up and started down the slope. “Hey,” Sam said, catching his arm. “It’s my turn to carry today.”

“You aren’t coming with me.” He refused to turn around. Wind whipped violently around him, and dark clouds seemed to suddenly blow over. He heard the crunch of Sam taking a step back as he let go of his arm.

Silence hung uncomfortably between them. Finally, quietly, Sam said, “Come back, okay?”

Without answering, Dream disappeared into the long grasses below. His thoughts dissolved into a blur of arbitrary page numbers he memorized to keep his place and train schedules and sunrises over cities and warmth. The chorus of  _ it’s not fair  _ became a distant hum. 

About halfway through to the edge of the valley, a wind cut through the grass, trampling a path beside him. It solidified into a person--Alyssa. Dream stumbled back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Warning you,” she said, racing ahead before him. “He knows you’re coming, but not your intent. Be careful.” Before he could answer, she was gone.

As Dream continued on, he felt everything around him radiating with impossible power. The animals moved with disturbing grace, the breeze more like a ghost’s hand than wind. Not a single thing worked without serene purpose. It would make any man feel miniature, pointless.

Yet Dream stood confident in the curve of the central valley. Ahead of him, two waterfalls thundered into streams that snaked across the golden land. Dandelion dust danced through beams of sun like magic. A- not a man. A being rose from the water. He was faceless and indefinite, simply glowing like a star. Massive antlers sprouted from his head. Each one appeared about the same height as Dream.

The God of Light and Order. 

He did not speak. His voice did not even echo in Dream’s mind. There was a tug inside him--like the word was racing through his veins and shouting all throughout his body. An undeniable pull to answer the simple question of  _ what _ .

Dream carefully lay George’s body down and knelt in the dust. “My lord,” he said evenly, keeping his head down. “My friend was killed. He was kind and good and did not deserve it. It was a mistake.” Carefully, tentatively, Dream raised his head. “I come asking you to revive him. Return the life he deserves back to him.”

The god gave a slow shake of his head before descending back underwater. The gentle gray clouds turned to stormy darkness as the temperature dropped. Animals stilled and turned towards him. 

Dream scrambled forwards to pick up George and fled. He scampered back over the curve of the valley. Though rather than travel back south, he turned and burst through the trees northward. There was potentially...another option. Maybe George would hate him for it, but it wasn’t fair to leave him dead. He had to fix it.

The other side of the Valley of Gods was a mirror opposite. Rather than waterfalls, streams of darkness poured into a massive pool of murky chaos. Creatures of Grimm rose from the sticky ink-like gloom and encircled the land. Dream knelt in the dust as he did before, hesitant to set George down. A figure of deep emerald shadows appeared before him. The figure was built like a man, but his limbs twitched and cracked as angelic wings sprouted from his back. He settled hovering just off the ground. With every beat of his grand wings, droplets of darkness would sizzle on the ground like acid.

The God of Darkness and Chaos.

Both gods--both of the two brothers--carried the power of creation. It was simply a matter of how they chose to rule it. In fairness, from what Dream had learned, the God of Darkness was kinder to the humans. He kept his Grimm on a tight leash, gave the people gifts like fire, created rainstorms to water fields. Humans were neutral. They were never good. So the god took to them like they were his children.

“Hello,” he said as Dream carefully laid George down. His voice sounded eerily human. He had an accent unlike any Dream had ever heard. “What do you need?”

“My friend was mistakenly killed. He was a good person, a hero. It’s not fair for him to pay.” Dream winced. The freezing air stung his lungs.

“I see. You wish for me to revive him?” 

Dream bowed his head.  _ Yes _ . “Yes, Lord, please.”

The god snapped his fingers. George’s eyes flew open. He arched upwards with an abrupt gasp. His eyes flickered around, confusion clear on his face. The light glow of his aura began to reform around him. Whole and healed. 

“George!” Dream cried, taking his hands. He turned to the god to thank him, but shrank back in terror.

The God of Light had come, and this time not as a man-like shape but as a serpentine dragon. The God of Darkness took the same shape, and they encircled one another with teeth bared. Clearly, some form of communication was happening between them.

The God of Light stared towards Dream propping George up. All too suddenly, the life was sucked back out of George. He dropped to the ground with a crack and vanished. Dream’s breaths came rapidly, panicked with horror. It was so- so sudden. His hands shook, eyes wild. 

The dragons darted around, snapping at each other. They battled. And depending on who was winning at the moment, George either blinked and gasped for air, or disappeared with life newly snatched away again. Dream sat back, purely terrified, paralyzed. He watched as George flashed from alive to dead to alive to dead within a second. It never seemed to end. 

“Stop!” Dream yelled as loud as he could with his burning lungs. The gods hesitated and turned to face him. He coughed, his voice raw. “This isn’t fair.”

Finally, the dragons stopped. George lay alive but unconscious. The two brothers faded back into their humanoid forms. The God of Darkness stepped forward. “When you came to me, I thought someone had finally come to me rather than my brother after hundreds of years of caring for humanity. But you betrayed me, just as all others have. Fairness is an unachievable wish, but this is the closest to ‘fair’ things can be after what you have done.”

“I don’t care about what you do with  _ me _ ,” Dream insisted. He gestured towards George. “I want you to fix both our mistakes towards him. There is a way to right this.”

“What injustices towards your friend are you suggesting my brother and I committed?”

Dream took a deep breath and calmed himself, trying not to think about the insanity of his current situation. “You know. The fact that his life was wrongfully cut short by a mistake not once but twice falls into the hands of fate alone, and who is fate but you? I ask only of you to resurrect him as he was at the time of the accident, no more.”

“You are very demanding,” the God of Darkness said, tilting his head. “I do pride myself in the boldness and curiosity humans have developed. You, however, are unique in other ways. I knew it was a matter of time until you found yourself here.”

  
“Will you grant my wish, then?”

He laughed, a quiet laugh that echoed across the valley. “If I make an exception once, then I can never refuse. Laws of nature are the only ones not made to be broken by you. You made the mistake and you asked too much. I won’t mislead you, Clay, I had no intention of agreeing.”

In the moment, the shock of being reminded of his given name after having forgotten it years ago did not even faze him. “You did once.”   
  


“And I was a fool for it. I have a soft spot for humanity. I see troubled people, and I care. Can you blame me? We aren’t too different, you and I. I truly am sorry.”

The God of Light stepped up beside the God of Darkness, palm facing outwards. He flicked his wrist, and George dissolved into a shower of gold light.

“No!” Dream scrambled forwards, tried to collect the light in his hands as it floated away. “What have you done?”

The God of Darkness shook his head. “It is  _ you _ that has done this. My brother and I almost succumbed this world to war because of you. You lied to me. You went to my brother first, and came to me after he denied you. Please go.”

So Dream ran. He ran faster than he thought his legs could carry him until he collapsed on the streets of the nearest village. People around him shouted. He dipped in and out of consciousness. All the commotion drew Sam, Skeppy, and Bad’s attention. Vague memories of being carried inside and set in a bed lingered in Dream’s mind.

When he woke, Sam was sitting beside his bed, reading something. “How do you feel?”

  
Dream pressed a hand to his forehead. “Like an idiot. Also very tired.”

“Go back to sleep. Bad’s out getting medicinal supplies and can help you soon.”

“I’m hurt?” Before Sam could even answer, Dream suddenly became aware of the pounding in his head and stinging on his throat. He reached up to feel a thin line of scar tissue just above his collarbones. He had no recollection of the injury. With a defeated sigh, he went back to sleep.

The next week was a painful cycle of bandages and treatment and wandering about and reading in the train station and sleeping for days at a time. Dream let himself feign relaxation. He curled up in the sun to sleep, sketched by candlelight at night, greeted strangers in the town. Anyone watching would think he was grieving and calming down.

_ Let them think I’m finished. _ This wasn’t the end. This was just the beginning. He would wait as long as he needed.  _ Let them think I’m finished so I can make this right.  _

It wasn’t just about George anymore. It had become more personal. The God of Darkness didn’t care for humans. He saw them as toys. The gods had wronged him, so he would ruin them and all their creations from then on. 

_ I will burn this world to the ground.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream asked Sam for help after George's death. He travels to the Valley of the Gods and meets BadBoyHalo and Skeppy along the way. Alone, Dream goes to ask both of the gods to revive George. The God of Darkness (Philza) agrees, causing battle between him and the God of Light (Callahan). Dream begs them to stop and tries to bargain with the God of Darkness. The gods send him off alone, without George's body or any help. Dream vows to destroy them, no matter the cost.


	7. Doomsday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins, the eternal war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second favorite chapter in the entire story, so I had a lot of fun with it. Enjoy :)
> 
> content warning: suicidal implications, blood, injury, death, derealization

The sunrise cast a warm orange glow over the melting snow. Clean springs ran through the woods as spring enveloped winter. Robins pecked at a flat dirt path through the fields not used in years. 

A sudden rush of chaotic noise scattered all the birds and deer. Thundering footsteps of over a thousand humans, all gripping torches or weapons. Many hurled angry curses and promises towards what lay ahead. The man leading this army, an army bigger than any ever before formed, held up a hand for them to be quiet while they walked.

This would not be a quiet fight. But he wanted the gods to know that when humanity broke down their door, they were not afraid and reckless. They would be prepared.

When Dream went to gather an army, he was terrified, but he found he was not alone. The same people who now marched towards the home of the gods once buried the anger in their hearts with fear. Seeing that caused Dream’s words to come freely without thought. He understood all these people wrongfully disserved by the gods. Crowds surrounded him as he traveled between cities and towns to find anyone he could. He became enticing, likeable. They saw a man who stood up to the gods and walked away. Not a mistake, not a murderer. A hero.

“You would’ve been good at being a king,” Sam told him when they were parting ways. 

Dream looked off to the side and let out a light laugh. “I wouldn’t have been a good king.”

“Yes, but you know how to handle power. You would’ve had the world under your thumb.”

“Maybe I still do.”

That was almost a week ago. Sam had no idea, but his words in the moment altered Dream’s mindset entirely. He  _ did  _ have the world in his palm, ready to be crushed or cared for. People fell into line behind him so easily. It took almost no work to manipulate his story into that of a tragic hero worth leading armies. Doubt turned to certainty. Anger turned to spite. Dangerous risks became thrilling. 

And he was definitely thrilled now. The crowds of justice-starved people from all across the south swarmed the marble stairs, the true gates to the Valley of the Gods. Dream let them pass by him and gather before the awaiting gods. 

“What is this?” the God of Darkness asked.

A man near the front shouted, “We’re here for justice!” Pride swelled in Dream’s heart.

“Who among you is responsible for this?”

He slowly descended the stairs, his emerald cape embroidered with golden thread gliding behind him. His left hand rested on the pommel of his towards while he carried George’s cane in his right. The crowd parted before him.

“You.”

Dream lifted his eyes beneath his brows. “Hello.”

“What do you want?”

“All these people,” he spread his hands, his voice echoing throughout the still valley, “ _ All  _ these people have been wronged by you. We have come to set things right.”   
  


“Go home.”

“No. You claim to be a kind father to humanity but you have taken so, so much. Humanity does not need a guiding hand. We are not your helpless children anymore. You gave us wild fire, we tamed it as our pet. You gave us raw magic, we bound it to ourselves. You gave us untouched land, we built massive cities. Don’t you understand just how capable humans are? Don’t you understand how much you’ve underestimated the threat we pose? Give in. Leave your power to us, and return to the Council of the Gods. This world is finished with you.” The crowd behind Dream let out a restrained cheer.

The God of Darkness paused for a moment to turn to the God of Light. He turned back to the gathered humans and reached out a hand. “No, this world is finished with  _ you _ .” He closed his fist.

All the thousand people standing around Dream crumbled to dust. 

His hands shook. “You can’t stop this,” he yelled, voice raw. “I will never stop! I will get more people, and I will be back! This-” he coughed. “This isn’t fucking fair!”

“There are no more people.”

Dream’s face fell. His strength dissolved. “What?”

“You are all that remains of humanity.”

_ That’s...it? _

“So- so I’m just meant to die here, alone?” The vastness of his words, how terrifying that was, the fact that the world had just ended in a matter of seconds was too much to grasp. Dream’s heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst from his chest. He couldn’t breathe.  _ No one. Everyone is gone. No one.  _ The scale of destruction was entirely incomprehensible. 

The God of Darkness shook his head. The God of Light approached Dream and reached out. He shrank down to a human size and pressed a burning hand to Dream’s forehead.

Shock burst through his veins. He could feel light pouring from him, stars exploding in his mind. The universe danced at his fingertips. He had been...elevated. Anything became possible. All he could see was oceans of golden light and galaxies of violet darkness sparked by constellations. He saw himself from outside his body, glowing like the sun. Only his eyes remained normal, open and humanly hazel. But he felt unstoppable. He was no longer the puppet, but the puppeteer. All his memories returned. Every little bit of his mind gained full clarity. He knew everything and nothing all at once. 

The God drew back. His mind stopped bursting. 

“What did you do?” he asked.

For a moment, the God of Darkness’s face solidified into something vaguely human. His eyes were bright and sorrowful. “You are now immortal. You can never join your kind in death.”

Dream’s heart seized.  _ NO- _

The God of Light evaporated into a shower of gold and vanished. The God of Darkness reached up like he was tipping a hat, then shot forwards as a beam of light towards the sky and straight through the rising moon, shattering it. 

He was so terrifyingly alone. 

His mind struggled with the enormity of everything. Humanity was entirely gone and merely a thing of the past. The gods abandoned the planet. He was immortal.

_ Immortal. _

“Am I a god?” Dream wondered aloud.

Something in his gut told him he wasn’t. A random searing burned at his forearm. He hissed and tugged up his sleeve. In neat letters, a word had been branded on his arm and then lightly traced by shallow cuts. Blood beaded in the dips of the words. 

_ Nuisance. _

Dream’s hand drifted to his sword. So he could feel pain. Maybe there was still a chance of getting out of this. He drew his blade and studied it before unlancing his tunic to uncover his heart.

-

George tried to blink away the bright light. His vision cleared, revealing a man standing over him. He scooted back. “Where am I?” There was nothing around them, just empty space of white light.

“This is between worlds. Do you remember what happened?”

“No?” He studied the man before him. He had longish blonde hair and wore a green cloak with traveling clothes and sandals. His green and white striped hat was an odd shape. “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. I brought you here to ask for your help. Tell me the last thing you remember.”

George swallowed hard. “I was laying on the ground, then I asked Dream to heal me. Did I die?”

“You did.”   
  


A cold feeling washed over him. He couldn’t understand the volume of what that meant. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing you aren’t willing to give. After you died, Dream became power hungry and dangerous. He brought other humans into it. There was a...crisis. Humanity is destroyed. I want to offer you a deal. If you return to the planet, I will return the rest of humanity along with you.”

George’s head spun. “What? You want me to determine the fate of humanity?”

“Not exactly.” The man spread his hands and four objects appeared in the air before him. They were all gold, glowing with a teal light. “These four relics will be scattered about the world. Collect all four of them when humanity is at peace with itself, and it will summon the gods back to the world. We will judge humanity. If the conflict and hatred that poisoned humanity is gone, we will return and help the world further flourish. If humanity is still at war with itself, depending on the scale, we will either abandon the planet or dissolve it forever.”

“How would I be around long enough? Why does this have to be my responsibility? How would this work? I don’t understand.” George noticed the use of “we” when the man was speaking about the gods. He didn’t know which one of them he was, but he felt some larger presence about him.

“In the time after you died, your soul was split many times. It caused a...malfunction with your aura. In a way, it grew to protect you too much. You are no longer able to die. When you do, your aura and soul will simply drift to a new body and overtake it.”

“I’m immortal.”

“Yes.”

“And I get to decide if humanity lives or not?”

“Yes.”   
  


“Then-” he exhaled. “Then yes. I’ll do it.”   
  


“Do you understand the weight of what you’re agreeing to?”   
  


“Not really,” George admitted. “But it isn’t fair of me to take a second chance away from all of humanity just because I’m tired.”

“I wish you the best of luck, then.”

“Wait-”

“Yes?”

“Will everyone be the same? Is Dream still there?”

The god sighed wistfully. “He never left. The destruction of humanity was his punishment. He was turned immortal, like you. But years have passed already only in the time of our conversation. I can see his actions, and I can see…” He paused. “He has done unthinkable things. He will not be the same as you remember. Humanity will reappear as if they had never left. But the two of you and those you affected will never return to before.”

“Okay.”  _ I can do this. I have a world to help me.  _

“If you have not called us back in two hundred years, I will send you help. Good luck.”   
  


“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the openness under George’s feet was replaced by solid ground. He fell to his knees. A raven cawed from the branch across from him. He was in the forest near where he had died. But this was not his body. And the world looked very, very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream spends the months following his encounter with the gods gathering an army of people who want their downfall. They storm the Valley of the Gods. The God of Darkness destroys all humanity. The God of Light makes Dream immortal and they abandon him. The God of Darkness tasks George to assist him in redeeming humanity and this world. George is sent back to life in his first reincarnation cycle.


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George returns and seeks out Dream, hoping for reconciliation. 
> 
> ! Content Warning: graphic violence, major character deaths, blood, suicidal thoughts, derealization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a LOT longer than the others have been and also contains more direct violence. pay attention to the content warning on this one. it starts out harsh, but there's a few nice bits in this chapter. these next few chapters are some of my favorites & also the key ones for the background of the main section (part 2)

Dream panted and rolled onto his back. His blood pooled on the carved stone path. Every lethal wound he’d inflicted upon himself left him only with more and more pain. All he wanted was an out. It was unbearable. 

After all these years, hadn’t it been enough?

His hand grazed the breeze over the open air of the pit. The cavern at the abandoned home of the Dark God still crawled with his creatures. Suddenly, Dream’s eyes lit up.  _ The pit _ . If anything could destroy an immortal, the pit could. It birthed horrible, soulless monsters and every desolate feeling and dark thing of the world. It could likely tear a god to shreds.

So Dream rolled over and fell. For hours, he glided towards the darkness. Waves of relief and terror washed over him in cycles. All his memories spun through his mind in rapid succession.

When he hit the surface, he felt like he died. His soul jumped from his body. Acid-like burning overtook him. Dream screamed, screamed so hard his lungs burned, into the blackness as he sunk deeper and deeper. Blows struck him from every angle. A cold feeling washed over. Life seeped from him.

A hand touched his shoulder.

_ Who is there?  _ He thought. 

A gentle whisper.  _ God-killer. Man-breaker. You have killed the man you were.  _

_ End it,  _ Dream pleaded.

_ You just did. _

-

The stories of the demon in the woods followed George between continents, across seas, through mountains, over fifty years, through two lives. He could never escape the nagging inside his brain and the people begging him to listen. Scorching fire and freezing water were no match for the gut-wrenching...anxiety? Hope? The only feeling he could place was fear. 

He would be different, the god told him. A shiver went up George’s spine. He loved impulsivity and change and unpredictability and difference and thrill, but he was always too afraid of it. Deep down, the same terror always froze his feet in place just as they did now. He couldn’t handle confrontation.

He couldn’t handle any more change. 

Instead of rushing in, he took a deep breath to steady himself and studied the all too familiar world around him. The praying pines were taller now. Three crows watched him from a high branch. Light, fluffy clouds blew across the clear blue sky with the calming breeze. George walked this very forest at least twenty times, yet he still felt so wildly lost. His internal compass spun faster than his mind. 

The manor looming before him was, admittedly, daunting. It was tall, built of stone brick and trimmed with dark wood. Thorn bushes curled around the windows and doorway instead of shutters and arches. A gentle hum emitted from it that drew the attention of all the nearby animals. An aura, a strong one.

_ Oh gods _ , George thought.  _ I’m going to be sick _ .

The heavy door banged open. George jumped back. It  _ was _ Dream. But it...wasn’t him.

A long emerald cloak was clipped with golden pins across his fine silk shirt. His golden hair stuck up at odd angles. He had a sword sheathed on one side of his belt, George’s cane clipped on the other. His eyes were hollow and soulless, somehow still dark hazel and voids at the same time. All his skin had paled to the color of a statue except for the burns that once covered his hands. He gripped the door frame with a clawed alabaster hand. “George?”

_ What am I doing here? I was never supposed to see him again. It was supposed to work, and then I would leave forever. _

George swallowed hard. “Dream.”

“Come in,” he said and stepped aside. 

As he forced his sluggish body to move up the stairs and in past Dream, George noticed that Dream seemed almost...nervous? 

The dark hallways of the old manor were lit by lamps of clover fireflies. Reddish brick absorbed all the shadows and lights. George placed a flat hand on the freezing walls to steady himself.

“I’m assuming you have questions,” Dream said quietly.

George turned to face him. “Yeah, maybe a few.”

Dream waved for him to follow. He pushed open the grand carved doors down the corridor, revealing a lavishly decorated hall. Stained glass windows stretched from the high arched ceilings almost to the marble floor. Silk banners of all the seasonal colors hung as spinning curtains. The only furniture in the airy hall was a stool on the dais at the end of the room and a long dark wood table with seven tall-backed chairs and velvet cushioning. 

“Sit,” Dream said, taking the chair at the head of the table and gesturing to the seat to his left. Hesitantly, George complied. A crow cawed outside. “So?”

“What is this place? What happened to Ant and Red? What happened to Sam? What did you do? What happened to you? What happened to the entire world?” George paused to take a breath. “The world is fucking broken, and there are grimm slaughtering people everywhere. I assume it’s your fault. Also, what the hell is a car?”

“Ant and Red sought me out to find out what happened to you. I built this place with them and Sam and some other friends, Bad and Skeppy. It was home, for a while.” Dream dragged a hand down his face and propped his jaw with his thumb. “Then Red and Skeppy were injured while stealing something important. They were alive when they got home, but neither of them lived long after that. Then Ant got sick. He didn’t make it, either.” He lowered his stare. “I’m sorry.”

George sat back. He couldn’t breathe. Gone. They were gone forever. He hadn’t even considered it, with all the time that had passed. He could hear the echoes of their laughter from many, many years ago. A sharp pain went through his chest as he processed that he would never hear that sound again. It had been years, but George still wondered how someone could disappear so quickly. Gone. 

“They-” George exhaled, trying to stay even. Something about Dream made him hesitant to trust him with any truth. “They wanted their ashes mixed together when-”

“Ant told me.” 

“Right.” He finally looked up at Dream only to be greatly unsettled. The expression across the other man’s face was like a mirror of his own. Over time, Ant and Red had become friends to him, too. Logic of human emotion would guide George towards empathy and understanding. Instead, he was furious.  _ He takes everything _ . Nothing was his own anymore. He never thought of himself as a jealous person, but something about Dream dragged a dark jealousy out of him. He couldn’t even bring himself to dislike it. He wanted something more to hate him for.

Hate him, right. If he hated him, why was he here?

“George?” Dream leaned forwards a bit. “Are you…” 

It took an uncomfortable amount of self-restraint not to lunge out of his chair and pin Dream to the floor with his hands around his neck to watch the life slowly drain out of him. But even if he did, he would just come back. George sat back and laughed. 

“What.” Dream’s face fell to grieved annoyance, not trying to humor him anymore. He sat back with a sigh. “Your room is up the stairs down the hall, first door on the left. You need rest.”

George was out of his chair before he was even finished speaking.

“Wait.”

He paused midway through pushing the door open. “What.”

“Sam has something for you. His room is across the hall from yours.”

Suddenly, George’s single focused mind began racing again. It had been  _ fifty _ years. “Sam’s alive?”

“Right, you’re still new to all this.” Dream stood and placed his hands on the back of his carved chair. “His semblance- you know what semblances are?”

“The fragments of broken magic unique to each person that humanity was left with after you ruined everything.”   
  
He tilted his head to the side, still irritated. “Sam’s semblance was strengthened by the additional power channeled to him. The gods leaving the planet forcefully broke the contract of all their acolytes with a final thank-you. Sam previously had the most strength in restoration magic. Now, his old power has become a regeneration semblance. He, and other similar ex-acolytes, are practically immortal. They are not invincible, and fighting drains their power of regeneration faster, but their bodies forcefully combat the signs of old age. They now age very, very slowly. The average one will not start noticeably ageing until about 200, 250 years from now. Knowing the gods, I’m surprised they left anything at all.” He narrowed his eyes. “George?”

Without another word, George nodded and darted out of the room. 200 years. The power bestowed upon the ex-acolytes was no mistake. The god he spoke to promised help if he had not succeeded by then. The acolytes  _ were _ his help. The god had left him an army. All he needed to do was gain their loyalty.

So, a week later, when Dream proposed a plan, George agreed. It was outrageous, irrational, unnatural, simply morally wrong. And yet, it was perfect. 

They were having a casual breakfast when he proposed it. Sam and Dream discussed their design plans that were spread across the table, pinned down by plates of strawberries and eggs. George sat on Dream’s left as always, barely touching his food and fiddling with the heavy golden pendant watch around his neck. Sam gave it to him as a gift without any explanation the day he arrived.

The calm morning was interrupted by a jarring reminder of the world outside. “People are still dying,” Sam said. George assumed it was relevant to whatever they had been discussing, but it was all he heard, and he felt guilt for having forgotten for a moment what the rest of humanity faced.

“I know,” Dream said, voice and expression empty. 

George glanced up at him. “You still haven’t done anything?”

“I have someone out helping, but we can’t control them all.”  _ Them _ . The creatures of grimm, the wild beasts that now prowled the world freely and slaughtered entire villages in a day. The master of the pit was the master of chaos. When the God of Darkness left his creatures alone, they sought out a master easy to overpower. Dream’s contact with the pools of darkness bound the grimm to him, and he did little to stop them.

“We talked about you coming up with a plan. I proposed a few. You still haven’t listened, and it makes me wonder if this isn’t bothering you as much as you said.” Sam walked dangerous ground, insinuating that this was no accident.

“Oh come on. You don’t trust me?”

A challenge. One Sam intercepted with a laugh. “No, not really.”

Dream smiled. George focused back on his watch. He could barely look at him, especially when he was smiling. The way his features resembled a grimm was reasonably off-putting. He was a walking nightmare.

It was odd how they had come to live. Dream cooked every meal (scrambled eggs for breakfast, lamb or venison for dinner) and George did the dishes. Sam worked on the rest of the house and steered away any curious wanderers. They had a cat--well, Dream had a cat--a grimm cat named Patches. She scared George at first, but he came to be fond of her too. 

Sam and Dream spent most of their days working, but a few times George had caught them practicing swordplay or kicking around a ball in the backyard. George, on the other hand, spent his days locked in the library. Eventually it was less to hide and more to read. The three of them lived like three friends casually living together, despite that they were three supernatural beings living in a vintage mansion with a demon cat. 

At dinner that day, George felt the most at ease he had the entire week. He sat sideways with his feet propped up on the table, talking with Sam. Dream paced around the front of the hall, muttering something himself.

“George,” he called, “I have an idea!”

His ease was quickly replaced with anxiety. “What?”

“What if we replaced the old gods? There is a power entrusted to us by the gods themselves and although it may have been an accident we have it now. The whole world is for the taking, right within our reach. We have the power to change everything for the better and make it beautiful. To fix what the gods lay upon a broken people. To heal them.”

George swung his legs off the table and sat back. Unfamiliar worry rose up in him. He simply inclined his chin for Dream to go on.

Dream grinned. “I’m going to do great things. Come with me.”

“You’re joking.” He shook his head. The red lights pulsed like a heartbeat as Dream’s face fell. “You probably want me gone.”

“George, after all I did for you, you still think I want to get rid of you like you once planned to get rid of me? I did all of this for you. And I truly hope that you’ll be by my side as we make the world safe again, and long after that. You may not trust me but you are still a friend in my mind. You’re still loyal and brilliant and daring. I admire that. Also, you are my only true equal in this hellish place. We are meant to be the new gods whether we like it or not. So am I wrong? Come with me.” 

In his good conscious, he knew it was wrong. And yet something about the idea spoke to him. If his task was to end war and create peace, an immortal ruling hand would be perfect. As for Dream--if he took careful time to sway his mind he could simply tell him what he was tasked with.

“I’ll think about it.”

Across the table, Sam covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. George glanced down to the side to suppress a smile. 

“I need an answer now.” Dream paused at the end of the table, arms crossed with an expectant look. 

_ He gave me a safety guarantee,  _ George thought.  _ So why not have fun? _

He pushed back his chair and stepped up an arm’s length from Dream. “No.”

“Oh come on. You don’t mean that.” A curious look spread across Dream’s nightmarish face. 

George laughed. “When was the last time you meant something you said?”

He spread his hands. “Look at everything here! I keep some promises. I meant that, though. What would it take for a yes? Do you want me to beg or something, because I won’t. You’re replaceable.”

“What are you going to do, throw someone else over the edge?” George latched his hand around Dream’s left forearm. “Fine-”

Dream shoved him back so hard he hit the stone wall and smacked his head against it. The movements were too familiar. They both stood wide-eyed and panting for a second. “Don’t touch me,” Dream snapped. He calmly glided out of the room.

“You’re getting reckless,” Sam said as George stared at the empty spot where Dream had been. “Some advice--never touch him, especially not his arms or hands. We both...a lot happened while you were gone.”

_ Believe me,  _ George thought.  _ I know. _

-

The small village of Livia lay south towards the deserts. Two roads were lined with wooden and canvas structures, converging in a small marketplace. Colorful silks were strung between the houses to provide some escape from the sun. The streets were full on that slightly cloudy day, the people hoping for the rare blessing of rain.

George sat on a couple of barrels, trying not to get his thin cloak sandy. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “This isn’t right.”

“No?” Dream’s voice drifted from somewhere ahead of him. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He didn’t need to see the inky ichor of grimm running from Dream’s palms to make whatever demon he planned to unleash. 

“The world you want to create and the world I want to create are not the same world.”

“So we compromise.”

“Is that all Remnant is to you? A compromise for us to play with? When will you realize that our abilities and faces don’t change our hearts? We-”

“Don’t change  _ your _ heart.” A harsh tone replaced the boredom in Dream’s voice. “They don’t change your heart. Haven’t yet, at least. I’m far beyond that.”

“You think you’re so much better than them,” he replied, voice thick with sarcasm to hide his anger.

“I  _ know _ I’m more than them.”

“Better?”

“If you think so.”

George opened his eyes.  _ Deep breath. _

The grimm before them resembled a massive spider. Drops of grimm fell from it’s abdomen and sizzled on the pavement. Eight vicious red eyes focused on the street below. It clicked it’s pincers once before scuttling off into the town. 

George leaned over to be sick. He wiped a hand across the back of his mouth and leaned against the wall.  _ This can’t be real. I can’t be here. This can’t be real.  _ The desert heat seemed to light him up all at once. His head pounded. He slid into a sitting position as his vision blurred.  _ What am I doing? _

“Hey,” Dream said, kneeling down in front of him. “Are you okay to do this today?”

He nodded weakly and pushed himself up. They stumbled down the sandy hill into the main street of the town. Now for the easy part. George stepped up to the grimm as it towered over an innocent family. A swing of his cane, a flattened palm, a hand from Dream, and the grimm was gone. The people cheered and thanked them profusely. 

He felt like his soul and mind were detaching from his body. But through all the suffocating crowds of thankful people, George realized something. It worked. It worked perfectly. One man knelt to them, and the rest of the town followed.

So they kept going.

-

The earlier comfortable silence was replaced by an expectant one. A shiver ran up George’s spine as he pushed the main hall door open and flipped the lock behind him. Dream stood at the front of the room, his forearms braced on either side of the stained glass window depicting the story of creation.

Dream turned his head to the side at the noise, not giving his full attention.

“Dream,” George said quietly, cautiously stepping around to steady himself with a tight grip on the arched back of his designated seat. “I have to talk to you about something.”

He hummed in inclination to go on.

“You asked earlier, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be angry.”  _ It’s fine. He’s your friend. _ “The reason I was brought back after everything. Who brought me back.”

“Oh.” Dream turned and sat down on the marble dais stairs. He motioned for George to sit beside him. “I have a fairly good idea of who did it.”

Reluctantly, George complied. “The God of Darkness. He appeared to me in his human form and gave me a choice. I could either pass safely on to the afterlife, leaving humanity as dust, or return to life, taking the burden of humanity’s survival.” 

“Why would the burden be yours?”

The conversation was oddly calmer than he expected. That could mean everything was fine, or that everything was about to erupt. George looked over at Dream for a second, observing the odd glow the red lanterns cast across his pale skin. The light again seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. He fiddled with a heavy golden locket. George recognized it as the one he had taken from the odd man they met the day before he died.

“The god tasked me with watching over humanity for him. In a way, you were right about us being the new gods of this world. There are four relics hidden around the world--I’m not sure what they were, I only saw them for a second--that I’m supposed to collect when humanity isn’t at war with itself anymore. When there’s no conflict, I summon the gods back with the relics to judge humankind. If I was right, and they’re at peace, the gods will return to our world and clear darkness. If I was wrong…”

“Oh. It makes sense.”

“You- you aren’t-” Furious? Betrayed? He was so taken aback he couldn’t place the rest of his sentence.

Dream shook his head with a smile. “Yeah, it makes sense. I can help you. I think I’ve seen something that could be one.”   
  


“Is it golden with a like...light bluish magic in it?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes! Come on, let’s leave today. We’ve been home for too long.”

_ What the hell?  _ “Okay,” George said slowly, trying to process how easy that was. “I’ll pack and tell Sam.”

“About that.” Dream stood and looked over his shoulder. “I think this should stay between us.”

“For now?”

“For now.”

-

“What’s all that noise?” 

George pressed his forehead against the window of the train they had taken southeast. Early morning fog clouded his vision but he could make out an orange glow and the city lights in the distance. Faint screams echoed through the train, leaving the passengers in anxious silence straining to hear the chaos outside. 

Finally, the train came to a full stop. George bolted across the platform and out of the station through the damp fields. His heart, his hands shook violently, he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was imagine the worst. He raced to the edge of the cliff and came to a sudden stop. 

Roaring flames enveloped the valley below, curling from every window and archway. Intricate stained glass panels shattered and showered down from skyscrapers like jagged rainbow rain. Scorch marks raced up the sides of the towers, barely visible through the smoke. Above, a few of the birdlike grimm, nevermores, circled and dove downwards. Smaller grimm tore through the rubble and civilians. People in the streets screamed, ran, held their families tight, hoped for the best. One little girl was wandering alone with only one shoe, clutching her teddy bear and calling out for her parents. The thick smoke smelled oddly sweet--like the glossy finishing coats on delicate vases, timeless paintings, carved wooden furniture, ceramics and murals. The final farewell of Ameycos. 

George helplessly watched as his home, all of his memories and his heart, crumbled and burned.

Dream’s voice cut clearly through the blurry sound. “George?”

“Tell me-” he started shaking his head. His hand slipped to the sheath of his cane. “ _ Tell me _ this wasn’t you.”

“I won’t.” Dream yanked George shoulder to turn them face to face. “I hope you understand the message.”

George clenched his jaw. Deep breath in. Exhale. Eyes shut. He waited until Dream’s hand on his shoulder relaxed, then punched him as hard as he could, clipping his jaw and nose. Dream stumbled back. 

“I hope  _ you _ understand that I didn’t have a choice. That it was this or nothing.”

Dream reached towards him. “Then you should’ve chosen nothing.”

He wasn’t thinking. It was unwanted, unfamiliar rage that spun the gears, that expanded his cane, that drove it clean through Dream’s heart. “After all that work you did to bring me back?”

A sudden wave of sense hit him. He yanked his cane out of Dream’s chest where the injury was already sealing itself over. George ran down the stairs to the city, straight through the smoke, coughing hard. Once on the ground, everything became blurry again. Panicky. Senseless. It was all grayness and unplaceable noise.

Then, a few feet to his left, he spotted the little girl who he’d seen calling for her parents. She looked about five or six years old and absolutely terrified. He approached her slowly and knelt down. “Can I help you?”

She nodded and stretched her arms out, still clutching her teddy bear in her dusty hand. George picked her up and stumbled down the street. He held her tight with one arm, his cane outstretched in the other. No grimm came near them as they traveled from one end of the city to the other, up the stairs, back into the fields. 

George had just helped the little girl onto the trains taking surviving civilians away at the station when he heard footsteps behind him. A few of the train passengers screamed. He didn’t need to turn to know who was there. He forced the doors shut and stepped back as the conductor hurried to get the train moving.

Silence fell over the entire valley. The smoke in the sky had blotted out the sun. No wind rushed through the tall grasses. The only noise was fire, crackling lightly in the background. Dream stood with his arms crossed. He looked perfectly fine. Better than fine.

Beside him, an unfamiliar man stood. Not a man, a hybrid. His eyes glowed white in his terrifying blend of demon and human face. His hands were human, but his essence was grimm. Two horns poked through his red silk hood. 

Dream stepped forward and grabbed George by his collar, pulling him away from the train. “Do you want to know what he told me before he left?”

He was not going to humor him. 

“So as long as this world turns, you shall walk it’s face.” He smiled that once beautiful, now horrifying smile. “That’s my curse. And I suppose we share it now. Take this warning: where you seek comfort, you will only find pain. Where you seek a solution, you will find failure. We could have become the gods of this world. Our powers surpass all others. We transcend death. We could have had whatever we wanted.”   
  


“ _ You _ ruined that.”

“I am not the ruiner. That fool, the God of Darkness is. I am a visionary. I see something better for this world. So I will destroy everything you love. And someday, you will come back to help me.”

“I will never come back. I will never work with you. Not after this. Not after what you’ve become.” He could let go. He could escape now. But not without killing everyone on the train, where it was now pulling out of the station. He just had to wait a few more minutes.

It was like Dream read his thoughts. “That train isn’t going anywhere.”

The man standing behind Dream leapt forward and latched onto the train. Then more grimm appeared, completely covering it. They clawed inside. The passengers cried out with bone-chilling screams. In less than a minute, those screams all disappeared.

_ No. _ All the families and children and elderly people who had struggled to make it to that last train, gone. The little girl. Her bear had fallen out the door and lay untouched on the tracks. 

“It’s inevitable.”

George turned back. “What is?”

“You. Us.” Dream put a hand to George’s feverish face and cupped his jaw. “This.”

George blacked out as a crack rang in his ears. Then he was above, seeing his body limp on the ground, neck bent at an odd angle. It wasn’t even his body. That wasn’t his face. The freckles, the patchy skin, the light brown hair, the light eyes. It was the body of a man who he’d stolen from and killed, someone who had no choice, just like him. He could already feel a tug on his aura and essence. A tug towards the body of the next mind he would have to battle for control. 

And so it began. The never-ending cycle of life and death. Sometimes, he blamed the prince. Sometimes, he blamed the gods. Every life ended the same way, in only a year or five after the abrupt struggle with the mind of whatever man his soul drifted to next. So he avoided his demons for sixty five years. But he always found himself wandering back. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream, in an attempt to cure his immortality, falls into the Pit of Chaos and becomes master of the grimm. George finds him and is told that Sam and Bad survived, but Ant, Red, and Skeppy are all gone. Dream, Sam, and George all live in peace for a while until Dream decides to play god. He and George spend time gaining the loyalty and worship of the people of Remnant. When George explains what the God of Darkness asked him to do, Dream burns down Ameycos and kills him in anger. He pledges to battle George throughout all of his lives until he gives in and works with him.


End file.
